Shall seeth to survive on h’r allowance,
Which is ample. But if ‘t be true the
Lady doest not, ’tis h’r problem— not his.
Now, I am not heroic. If I had had over the course of time a foolproof means to end it all, I doubt I’d be here. The fear of failure, however, a resulting disability, or of being caught, has governed any such thoughts. In this sense I have never really made a decision to go on living so much as *reached a default position. I’ll bet you anything that there are a billion more like me.
Now I guess one surefire method would be to climb to the top of somewhere quite high and leap to the glorious death afforded one who gets to feel that rush all the way down. But being rabidly opposed to bombing people, I cannot help fear that last act’s ending as hypocrisy from on high.
Regarding living in a heroic sense, if I were truly bold I would risk being thought utterly mad and climb to the top of somewhere quite high and scream to everyone what I really think. And I’d never stop.
It’s been said that yesterday’s pistol wielding killer in Munich had been under psychiatric care and complained about having been bullied for seven years. I wouldn’t venture to reckon if his excuse corresponded to the truth of his convictions but I do believe that the world would be better without meanness & violence and don’t doubt that the bullied sometimes fire back indiscriminately.
Just imagine what it’d be like to live with the ever-present fear that you or your family might be recipients of an explosive projectile because somebody three doors down doesn’t seem to be acting right according to “intelligence”. Might you feel picked on? The American First Lady’s call for awareness of bullying would take on a profound new dimension if so many people weren’t trained in the art of believing the harm they inflict on the innocent serves a greater innocence.
Even if all of this is lost on us, it is not lost on those who pull the strings. If it were, it wouldn’t be string pulling; it’d be the folly that the social media activist often says it is… right there next to his advocacy for the nearest puller of his strings.
When it was revealed that the apartment house in my ‘hood that had been beset by riot cop-backed evictions belonged to a shell firm at whose sole behest — and lack of legal justification — the evictions had been carried out, it was too late for a mindset change even though the evictions were ruled unlawful. For it had already been established by a people not into firsthand knowledge that the automobiles burning nightly on the streets were attributable to the likes of those who occupy this particular building.
Forget that the occurrence of arson had largely abated prior to the convenient harassment that preceded the evictions. Let us rather view the increase in vandalism to everyone being harassed because the evidence is so perfectly circular.
Forget that the actual occupiers — as a matter of semantics — are any new occupants of the building, and by extension the neighborhood, who by virtue of the landowner’s looking to late-capitalize off of hip property, would require the previous occupants’ being removed.
While we’re at it, let’s just forget how landowners come to own the land in the first place.
The question is: If someone in your building is suspected of a crime, what circumstances need be met before Law & Order decides to bug bomb the lot of you and make room for the next crop of sub-gentry?
Other than the provincial concerns circling Berlin’s imminent mayoral contest, one might wonder what & for whom is convenient this attempt underway to streamline how “far-left” and “far-right” are treated by the arms of city-state justice, by branding them the catchall “extremist” – superordinate to their respective legal transgressions as already defined.
When a guy randomly knifes his co-passengers or takes target practice on mall shoppers, is the best response point-counterpointing sarcastic knife ban proposals versus how much deadlier the rapid fire of bulletry is, or a rush to pit the NRA against ISIS as enemy number one, considering the bottom-line ideology that weaponizes the world to its chattering teeth reaps the rewards of the conflicting principles that say we should profile & execute them by remote so that we don’t have to discriminate against them in person?
Is this not the same pretzel logic that calls for due process while taking as given that the public executioners are telling the truth when they say the executed was a shooter, while in all the days and months before, the cockamamie stories cooked up by cops encountered deep disbelief thanks to the presence of (in)convenient video?
Might the difference maker be the universal headlines that co-dubbed the story titled Five Officers Down in Dallas the worst such case since 9/11, thereby rendering examination of any available video to “kooks” who can’t quit? (We better keep an eye on them.)
Just how close can extrajudicial process kill, and do you only care about it in the “first they came for the (blanks)” way, which betrays that you don’t really care about the (blanks)?
Can the Good Cop really protect the people from destined degeneracy? Might there be issues that trump all others, which in point of fact do not carry that name? Will the big culprits forever remain too big to tell?
I have been so hin und her gerissen regarding your reception of my Humanity Sentence as so unduly irreverent so as to disqualify me from the field of Deutsch Denkertum. Then, that you referenced as leading Denker someone for whom there is no Simple English Wikipedia entry, well… talk about flippant!
How can I even begin to take this struggle seriously? is where I ended up until I had spent an evening with a particularly long, circular nightmare, whereupon I found myself by the light of the moon in my sleeping chambers in a cold sweat, forced to further considered the, as you stated it, ‘urgency to the issue’.
So pack my bags I did, with the expectation that I would be spending a good ordeal of time in the land of the supremest court of them all, Karlsruhe. And what an adventure it led me on! But not what you might have expected.
To wit (or to cut to the chase): I did as you instructed, as far as circumstance would allow. I fed that disgusting pig the wieners so, and, frankly, was surprised at how willing and enthusiastically — and in what manner — he cooperatively gorged himself. If I had not known better, I would have thought he had for this purpose taken the form of a tweenty-something Japanese schweinefleisch-obelisk fressing, gut busting competitor. No. He was still fat and smelly — pungent as only a oily man of Western tenure never having had his tweed cleaned could be.
I was at the ready with my blunt instrument (a cricket bat somehow seemed most appropriate and, ironically, was the easiest for me to come by, as it was mounted on the professor’s wall directly behind him, for, you see, I had forgot this one detail of your detailed instructions (though I must tell you as an additional aside that being a left-hander for me and for a good many left-handers whom I have befriended, many an acquaintanceship as the result of my subscription to Lefty, means having so unconsciously integrated myself into the whirled of the righty, that the most natural pose for me was to feed with the left, strike with the right)) when the Herr Doktor began to choke his last choke, forsaking the point of my coup de grace. He was dead within seconds.
I do not suppose I have to tell you — a decent man not unlike myself who is not prone to the kingdom of the moral relativism of our recently departed anti-hero — that flushing through my mind as I restored the cricket bat to its previous position was the relief of a Denker who had done a good deed without having had to resort to violence.
No sooner had I gedacht these Gedanken, did several secretaries, assistants, colleagues, and the like, come rushing into the office to see what was the ruckus, for this corpus did make a remarkably loud thud as it arrived to meet with the polar bear rug upon which was scribed the List of Beings’ Rights.
I had not even been able to consider a defence before this not unmotley crew hoisted me upon their shoulders and paraded me back through the entry hall to the eventual jubilation of the assembling academy. At the edge of my field of vision I noticed a diligent pair forcibly removing, shard by shard, the portrait of the freshly late Doktor from its altar. I could do nothing but clearly make out the überbig superscription as another pair hastily hung the replacement portrait of his successor: ‘Deutschlands Top Denker’.
I am doubly ashamed to admit that I was swelling with pride, for, as you may recall, I believe neither in pride, nor shame.
But alas. This ineffable level of self-indulgent elation was extinguished in a moment when I saw the cartoon-like visage in what I had assumed would be my rightful place of Nachfolgership. It was that of Bernard-Henri Lévy!
‘But he eats foie gras!’ I protested to no avail. It seems they had made up their minds long before the conception of my deed. I hope you will forgive me when I tell you that it occurred to me, albeit fleetingly, that you might have had foreknowledge of this eventuality.
I hope one day to be able to enjoy the solace of having played an instrumental part in the fate of Denkness in general, but now it just smarts.
Bitterly yours in Freed Rich’s Hine,
In truth, I’ve grown old waiting.
Now I comprehend too late that the closer she
came, the greater the distance, and that
we will never meet.
Die Wahrheit ist nicht da drin, es ist da draußen.
Doch, vielleicht hier drin, aber nicht da drin.—irgendjemand irgendwann
Zum einen hast du einen Fehler gemacht und dann noch einen freiwilligen Irrtum begangen.
Von vorne: Wir bekommen unsre ganze Geschichte im Voraus erzählt, verstehen es eher als Wahrscheinlichkeiten. Wohl prognostizieren manche verdienstadelmäßig titulierten „Experten“ aber andere schreiben die Zukunft, und damit die Vergangenheit. Selbstverständlich auch die Gegenwart, wo auch immer beachtet. Sie sollten darauf, mehr oder weniger, weniger Acht geben. (Ich meine damit nicht du Sie, sondern die sie.)
Ich sag das, obwohl gemahnt wird, dass alles zu lesen, zu fragen, nachzuprüfen sei. Ich behaupte nicht, Alternativen gibt es nicht. Das ganze Leben ist voll von Alternativen. Aber ohne Paradigmenwechsel passen die sehr unangenehm bis unerträglich ins Ganze hinein. Passen die doch hinein — wie daneben aber dabei oder werden sie in der Öffentlichkeit als Diskussionswürdig präsentiert —, sind sie gewiss keine Alternativen, davor oder danach.
Die zügellose Wahrheit befindet sich auf der Ebene, woran sie überall geglaubt wird. „Achte darauf“ heißt in diesem Zusammenhang sich im Kreis drehen. „Schwindelig bleiben.“
Andersrum bedeutet Aussteigen vielmehr, „Nehmen Sie letztendlich zur Kenntnis, dass es doch kein richtiges Leben im falschen gibt.“ Gerade dieses reiht sich in die Unendlichkeit ein. „Hören Sie auf, die Minutien zu verfolgen, mit ihren Befürlügner zu diskutieren oder zu versuchen, die Träger in ihren Dienst zu überreden, umzudrehen.“ Auch wenn Sie glauben, sie wären nur verstellt und irregeführt.
Daneben aber nicht dabei: Die besten Geschichtenerzähler neigen dazu, öfter auf „so“ zu verzichten. So. Noch mal weiter. Weiter von vorne. Ein Lied von meinem.
Letztens ist mir über eine Reise durch Süddeutschland ein hiesiges Knabberzeug zur Kenntnis gebracht. Naja, es war nicht unbedingt örtlich abhängig. Wie oft der Fall, könnte es sich vielmehr um eine Spätkaufssonderlichkeit handeln. Kam mir aber als beides vor.
Zur Sache: Da war kein Anwalt bei, als diesen Erdnussmöbiusband Snack entwickelt worden war. Wissenschaftler wohl kaum. Zumindest keine wahre Wissenschaftler, der etwas auf sich hält. Und sei entweder Anwalt oder Wissenschaftler da gewesen, würden sie bereits zu Werbeagenten geworden sein, brächten sie den folgenden Warnhinweis auf die Tüte an:
Mein Kuli ist alle. And they said it was the Russians what couldn’t make a good ballpoint…
Grosse Pointe? Bestimmt war da was dran gewesen. Ach ja: Nehmen wir zum Beispiel diese Straße hier. Die ist nicht die wahre Rudi-Dutschke-Straße, obwohl sie scheint, dessen wahren Name zu tragen. Und es kann keine Real-Rudi-Dutschke-Straße geben.
So ist es mit dem Aufruf zur Solidarität. Der nimmt mit zunehmender Schärfe die Form von einem Sprechakt, der Menschen fordert, sich einzureihen, während diese schon ewig offenkundig sagen, besser beraten hieße, Aussteigen! Benennen können sie dieses aussichtslose hin und her was sie wollen, aber „Intragruppenkonflikt“ ist es nicht. (Ich meine damit natürlich nicht du Sie, sondern die sie.)
Daneben aber dabei. All 2-morrow’s orgasms. Versprechen oder sich versprechen? Das ist hier keine Frage. Der Geist ist stärker als die Materie. Schwerer auch. Schwer zu ertragen. Like, real heavy, man.